The Adventures of Little Clark
by Centralia Currie
Summary: A sequel to "Raising Clark." This time, Jonathan and Martha learn that their new son, who's still struggling with the language, has extreme strength. How will they be able to handle this?
1. Good Morning, Clark!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Clark! Mommy made pancakes and sausage for breakfast! Yummy!"

Three-year-old Clark Kent rolled over in bed and frowned, emitting a groan that sounded like, "Mmmmm." He watched as his mother opened his curtains and raised his blinds.

Martha Kent was in her early thirties, with shoulder-length red hair. She had always wanted to be a mother, and thanks to her little adopted bundle of joy, she had finally gotten her wish. But things weren't all that simple: Clark had been discovered wondering around near a spaceship after the Smallville meteor shower, and barely understood English. He spoke several words correctly, but was still struggling to string together sentences. More than half the time his parents spoke to him, he just stared at them in confusion.

Jonathan and Martha were certain the kid was from another planet. They planned to keep it a secret.

"Maamaa!" Clark yelled out in protest as Martha wrapped her arms around her little miracle and seized him from bed.

"Clark, Daddy's been up since four pitching hay and milking the cows," Martha reasoned with her son as she carried him downstairs to breakfast. "He's hungry. He wants to eat. _Eat_, Clark."

"NO EEEE!" Clark yelled. "CLARR SLEE!"

"Clark, sweetheart, we've been through this. It's not 'Eeee,' it's 'eat.' And your name is Clark, not Clarr." Clark knew how to pronounce these words correctly, but still got them wrong often, especially when he was crabby.

"_What_ is with _him _this morning?" Jonathan Kent asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise as Martha carried Clark into the kitchen and wrestled him into his booster seat at the table.

"He probably had a good night's sleep last night and doesn't want to get out of bed," his wife told him. "I don't know how he's going to make it once he starts school."

Thankfully, Clark calmed down once his mother served him breakfast. "Eeee-ing" was one of Clark's favorite things, no matter what he said.

"Clark, sweetheart, want to come out and milk cows with Daddy?" Jonathan asked his son after Clark had finished his breakfast. "Daadaa needs to finish milking the cows."

"Not in his jammies, he can't milk cows. We need to change first, and brush his teeth, and run a brush through that mop of hair."

"He shouldn't be at breakfast in his jammies. He needs to come fully dressed, ready to do his chores."

"He doesn't have any chores, Jonathan. He's three." Martha didn't add that the last time they had tried to give Clark chores, he had squeezed the farm's tomatoes a little too hard and gotten them all over his clothes. Obviously Jonathan had forgotten that incident.

"Martha, my old man had me doing chores at two." Jonathan stood up, went over to his son's booster seat, and plucked him out of his chair. "Young man, from now on I expect you to be dressed every morning at breakfast, ready to eat. Then you are to report to the barn for your chores," he said to his son teasingly.

Clark simply cocked his head to the side. He hadn't understood, as usual.

Jonathan ran his hand across his son's bottom, and felt something wet. "Clark Kent, did you wet your training pants again?" he asked Clark, scowling. "How many times have your mother and I told you that it's _okay_ to use the potty at night?"

Martha sighed. "Clark, sweetie, you need to stop wetting your Pull-Ups at night. If you keep this up, Daddy and I won't let you have any milk with your evening cookies."

Clark hadn't gotten the specifics, but when he saw the looks on his parents' faces, his own face fell.

"Clarr bad?" he asked quietly.


	2. Clark's First Milking

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.

* * *

After breakfast, Martha took Clark upstairs. Once she had brushed his teeth and Clark had used the bathroom, she dressed Clark in a plain red t-shirt and an old pair of tiny denim overalls that Jonathan had worn when he had been Clark's age.

"So cute," Martha smiled, ruffling her son's dark hair. "Mommy's little farmer!" Giving him a kiss, she handed him over to his father.

"Come on, son," Jonathan smiled at his boy. "Let's go out to the barn."

Walking hand in hand—Jonathan taking slow, careful steps and Clark toddling along beside him—father and son made their way out to the Kents' red barn and approached the first cow in her stall. Jonathan picked up Clark, opened the cow's stall, and sat down on a stool in front of the cow's udder, with Clark in his lap.

"I'm so excited. Clark, you're the fourth generation of the Kent family to live on this farm. If only your grandfather and your great-grandfather could see you now!" Jonathan reached for a metal pail. "Not that you have to be a farmer, Clark. You can be anything that you want to be. You control your own destiny."

Clark looked lost, as usual. He was probably wondering why Daadaa was making him sit in front of a cow.

"Clark, today we're going to milk your first cow. This was my first chore when I was little; helping my own father milk the cows. It's very easy, son. All you do is reach out and take a hold of the cow's udder-" Jonathan reached for the closest udder in front of him—"and pull it downwards towards the pail, squeezing hard." Jonathan pulled the udder, squeezing it tight. Clark watched in fascination as a steady stream of milk shot out from the cow's udder and landed in the metal pail.

"Take my hand. Let's do it together." Jonathan gently took his son's hand and wrapped it around the cow's udder. Together, father helped son squeeze the udder and milk the cow. Clark squirmed in discomfort.

Jonathan had a feeling he knew what that was about. "Don't worry, Clark. Betsy can't feel anything. Maybe a little tickle at the most, and she's _happy_ she's being milked. She's very uncomfortable otherwise. See? She isn't hurt!"

Jonathan and Clark milked together for a few more moments, and then Jonathan finally let go of Clark's hand as it was wrapped around Betsy's udder. "I want you to do it by yourself, son. Pull!"

Clark just sat there, unmoving. Jonathan knew his son probably hadn't understood, so he grasped an invisible udder in front of him and pulled, to show Clark what he wanted him to do. Very gently Clark pulled.

"Good job, Clark! Keep milking!" Jonathan said excitedly, clapping his hands.

Clark smiled in glee and pulled Betsy's udder again. _Pull_. _Pull_.

PULL.

On Clark's fourth try, he pulled with such force that Betsy's legs fell out from under her. The cow fell to her side, and let out a giant squeal of pain. "MMMMOOOOOOOO!" Betsy shrieked.

Jonathan was frozen on the stool. Clark still had his hand clutched out in front of him, and Betsy was now lying horizontally on the barn floor, letting out moos of pain. The milking pail had been kicked to the side. Milk was leaking out of Betsy's udders, and there was a pool of blood around the top of her udders. It was as if Clark had tried to yank her udder straight off of her.

Jonathan quickly picked Clark off his lap and sat him aside—the little one was now crying—bolted off of his stool, and ran to the barn door. "_Martha_!" he shouted toward the house. "_Martha,_ come out here, QUICK! WE NEED TO CALL THE VET!"

As Jonathan turned back toward Betsy's stall, he heard the back door to the house slam, and Martha running quickly to the barn.

As soon as Martha Kent reached the barn door, she turned towards the noise and took in the chaotic scene. "Jonathan, _what happened_?" she asked her husband frantically, but Jonathan wasn't answering.

Her husband was just staring at Clark, who was sitting on the barn floor, crying hysterically.


	3. Long Overdue Naptime

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: Thank you very much for your kind comments. I can't believe that people are actually reading this! Thanks for reading, from Alisonia.

* * *

While Jonathan was out in the barn with the vet, Martha had taken Clark back to the house. Wrapping him in a blanket, she lay him down on the couch and went over to the kitchen, where she warmed some milk on the stove and poured it into a sippy cup for him. As soon as the vet left, Jonathan went back to the house, where he saw his wife sitting on the sofa, rocking Clark in her arms as she fed him from the sippy cup. Clark had calmed down considerably, but tears were still running down his little cheeks.

"Betsy's going to be just fine, Martha."

Martha breathed a sigh of relief, but something else was still bothering her. "What did you tell the vet, Jonathan?" she pressed him.

"I told him that Betsy tripped over the milking pail as I was leading her back into her stall. I think he bought it." Jonathan sat down next to his wife on the sofa and ran a hand through his son's hair. "Are you all right, son?"

Clark pulled the sippy cup out of his mouth and started to cry again. "Clarr bad!" he bawled, attempting to wipe his tears with balled-up fists. "_Clarr bad_!"

Jonathan and Martha both shook their heads. "Oh, no, sweetheart!" Martha exclaimed, appalled by the very idea. She held Clark close to her, and hugged him as tight as she could. "You haven't been bad at all, Clark! You just didn't know any better!"

Clark continued to sob. Jonathan reached for a tissue from the tissue box on the coffee table, and began to wipe his son's tears. "Clark, Mommy and Daddy love you," he told him gently.

This got Clark's attention. He sniffled, still looking sad, and turned toward his father. "Maamaa Daadaa love Clarr?" He sounded confused.

"Yes, darling! We know you weren't bad _on purpose_," Martha assured him. She stood up from the sofa and lifted Clark into her arms. "Come on, Clark, let's put you upstairs in your room for a little nap. Nap. _Sleep_," she emphasized to him. "Clark will feel a lot better after some sleep. Maamaa promises."

"Slee," Clark mumbled, already laying his head on his mother's shoulder. "Niiii, Maamaa."

* * *

After Martha tucked Clark in, she returned downstairs to her husband. Jonathan was in the kitchen brewing another pot of coffee. It was going to be a long day.

"Martha, you remember that…_package_…we've got hidden down in the storm cellar?" Jonathan asked, narrowing his eyes as he added some cream to his coffee.

Martha nodded wordlessly and reached for an empty coffee mug.

"Well, I don't think it's doing us any favors at this point." He took a sip of coffee. "We don't know where Clark's from, and we don't know what language he spoke—if any—before we adopted him. His body could work complete different from ours."

Martha nodded. "I think it does. The question is, how much strength does he have, and is he capable of controlling it?"

"He must be. The first couple of times he milked Betsy, he was nice and gentle, and then he got carried away. I think he's capable of controlling his strength, but he's just too little to try just yet."

"What happened to Betsy isn't Clark's fault, Jonathan. He didn't know any better. But what's going to happen when he _does_ know better? Do you think we should be afraid of our own son?"

Jonathan automatically shook his head. "Absolutely not. Did you see the look on his face? He was _terrified_ at what he'd done! We're raising a very good kid. We just need to teach him that he has a few special abilities and that he needs to learn to control them."

Martha nodded wordlessly. She was trying to hold it all together, but she was afraid she'd break out in tears any minute. "Jonathan…do you think he's in danger? Do you think that one day someone's going to find out?"

Before Jonathan could say anything, Clark appeared at the bottom of the stairs, clutching his blanket. "Clark!" Martha exclaimed. "Honey, what's wrong? Mommy just put you to bed!"

"Clarr no slee," Clark moaned.

"Can't sleep, son?" Jonathan asked sympathetically. "Maybe Mommy can make you some more warm milk."

"I have a better idea. Maybe Clark will sleep better if he's _with_ Mommy." Martha went over to the stairs, picked Clark up, and carried him upstairs. Her coffee forgotten on the kitchen counter, she took Clark into her and Jonathan's room and lay down on her side of the bed, Clark curling up beside her.

"Mommy loves you, Clark," Martha whispered into her son's ear as she closed her eyes. "Daddy does too." She wrapped her arms warmly around Clark's little body.

Mother and son were asleep within minutes.


	4. Lunchtime and the Laundromat

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.

* * *

The next time Martha opened her eyes, the clock-radio on her nightstand read 12:30. _Oh, no_, she groaned to herself. _Jonathan's_ _probably wondering where his lunch is_.

She disengaged herself from Clark—who was still sleeping peacefully—and quietly made her way downstairs, where Jonathan was heating something up in the microwave.

"Good, you found something for lunch," Martha breathed. "Sorry I overslept."

Jonathan smiled. "Leftover chili. Relax, sweetheart. When it comes down to making me lunch and providing comfort to the little one, our toddler always wins." The microwave beeped, and Jonathan removed the dish.

Martha opened the refrigerator and removed some swiss cheese and turkey breast for a sandwich. "This afternoon I have a lot of errands to run. I need to go to the bank, the supermarket, the Laundromat-"

"The washing machine _still_ isn't working? I thought I fixed it!"

"No, and we can't afford to have someone come out to look at it until later. Then I want to make an apple pie for dessert tonight. Clark needs something special."

Jonathan and Martha heard a cry from upstairs, and then tiny footsteps on the stairs. "Maamaa!" Clark called, appearing at the base of the stairs. "Eeee?" He asked anxiously. He was rubbing his tummy.

"Of course, sweetheart!" Martha went over to the stairs, picked up Clark, and carried him to the kitchen table, where she plucked him in his booster seat. "I'll even heat up some extra chili for you if you can pronounce the word right. _Eat_."

"Eeee."

"_Eattttt_!"

"_Eat_!" Clark yelled.

Martha gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Now, why can't you talk like that _all _the time?"

* * *

"Clark, the worst part of living on a farm is all of the dirty clothes. Look at all of this laundry. Thank goodness you're so small!"

Martha Kent was standing outside of the Laundromat, unloading laundry baskets from the back of the Kent truck. Three of them were large baskets, very heavy, that were filled to the brim with Jonathan and Martha's clothes. A fourth one was about a third the size of the other three, and was filled with Clark's teeny clothes. It was much lighter.

"I don't like going to the Laundromat any more than you do," Martha told her son. "But don't worry, we can read while the clothes are in the washing machine. I brought your ABC book and your numbers book."

Clark looked lost. Martha knew he probably hadn't understood a word, but she and Jonathan knew that the best way for him to pick up the language was for him to listen as his parents talked to him.

"Now, sweetie, I want you to sit _right here_, okay?" Martha picked Clark up and sat him on the back edge of the pickup. "Sit _right here_." She pointed to the spot. "I'm going to carry the laundry inside, and when I'm done, I'll come back for you. We'll go inside and sort laundry for the washer, okay, honey?"

Clark didn't look confused, so Martha gathered that he understood. She picked up the first huge basket of laundry and carried it inside the Laundromat, setting it on the first available table. She was huffing and puffing; carrying laundry baskets was worse than carrying those bales of hay that Jonathan got from the feed store.

Martha went out for the second basket. Clark was still sitting on the back of the truck. Martha smiled, kissed her son, told him he was a good boy, and headed inside with the second laundry basket.

Setting the second basket down on the table, Martha turned around to head back outside, but stopped right in her tracks. Standing in the door of the Laundromat was her toddler son, balancing the third heavy laundry basket on top of his head.

"_Clark_!" Martha gasped. She hurriedly took the basket from her son and set it on the table. Then she turned around to make sure no one had seen; the Laundromat and parking lot were both empty, thank goodness.

"Clark Kent, _what did I say_?" Martha demanded. The fact that her son could lift several dozen pounds was bad enough, but the fact that someone could have seen him do it absolutely terrified her. "I told you to _stay outside_ in the back of the truck. You disobeyed Mommy. You've been a _bad boy_!"

Clark recognized the words "bad boy," and began to cry. "Clarr bad!" he whined, wiping his eyes with his balled-up fists. "Clarr sorry!"

Martha's expression melted. "Oh, sweetie-" she bent down to pick up her son, and sat in one of the Laundromat chairs with him on her lap. "Clark, honey, Mommy's sorry she acted so mean. Mommy's just worried." She took a tissue out of her pocket and dried her son's tears. "Clark, it's not normal for a little three-year-old to lift so much weight. What if someone could have seen you? Sweetheart, your father and I have noticed that you have special abilities, and we need to keep them a secret." Clark let out a dry sob, and looked up at his mother, his face a blur of confusion.

Martha sighed. Like usual, he hadn't understood a word.


	5. Clark Can't Sleep

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: Okay, so in this chapter I have Clark thinking to himself in Kryptonian. I did that because I wanted to have some way Clark could communicate his own feelings to himself. I don't know if Clark ever knew Kryptonian, but let's pretend he does until he becomes fluent in English.

* * *

Clark Kent lie on his bed in his room, still wearing the red t-shirt and overalls that Maamaa had dressed him in this morning. He was supposed to be taking his afternoon nap, but he couldn't sleep; instead, his face was red and tears were running down his cheeks.

His bedroom door was wide open, and Clark could hear his parents talking downstairs in the kitchen. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but they sounded angry. Daadaa and Maamaa were shouting, and every so often, Clark picked up the words "Clark" and "bad."

They were talking about him and how he was a bad boy. Clark continued to cry. Couldn't Maamaa and Daadaa see that he didn't mean to be bad? The only reason he left the truck to carry the laundry into the laundry place was that Maamaa looked as if she was in pain. _I just wanted to help_, Clark thought to himself in Kryptonian. _Why does Maamaa think I'm bad?_

Downstairs, Martha and Jonathan were sitting at the kitchen table over a pitcher of lemonade. Jonathan was all dirty and sweaty from plowing, but instead of gulping down his wife's lemonade, he was deep in discussion with her.

"You should have seen him, Jonathan. He was all upset and crying, and telling me how he was a bad boy," Martha told her husband, fighting back tears. "I know he was just trying to help, but he doesn't understand that it hurts us to see him use his abilities in a public place."

Jonathan made a fist and slammed it down on the kitchen table. "Don't get the wrong idea, honey. I'm not angry at Clark. I'm just angry at myself, because I can't think of a way to talk about this with him. Every time I tell the kid to do something, he just stares at me with that blank expression. He can't understand most of the things that _his own father_ is saying to him! We might as well be _strangers_!"

"A couple of months ago, Jonathan, we _were_ strangers to him. He didn't even recognize us as Mommy and Daddy until about a _week_ ago, when he called us Maamaa and Daadaa!" Martha yelled. She remembered her son was napping, and lowered her voice. "This whole situation angers me too. I love Clark so much, and I know it's going to take time for him to understand that he has abilities most people don't have. What do we do, Jonathan?"

"_I don't know_, Martha! I just told you that I DON'T KNOW!"

There was a pause, and off in the distance, both Jonathan and Martha could hear Clark crying.

Martha sighed. "I think he can hear us arguing, and it's scaring him."

"Let's go up and calm the little guy down. Is that pie of yours almost done? Maybe a piece will cheer him up."

* * *

Jonathan and Martha went up the stairs into Clark's room. Sure enough, Clark was lying on his bed, stomach to the mattress, and bawling. When Martha lay a hand on Clark's back, gently asking him what was wrong, Clark just cried some more. "Clarr bad! Clarr _bad boy_!" he howled.

"No, Clark!" Jonathan exclaimed softly. He plucked Clark from his bed and pulled him into a tight hug. "Absolutely not! Clark's been a _very good boy_! Mommy and Daddy love you!"

"It's Mommy and Daddy who have been bad," Martha added, reaching for a tissue and drying her son's eyes. "We could be handling this better. We're mad at ourselves."

"You know what, son? Mommy's baking a very delicious apple pie. It's in the oven right now. We were saving it for dessert, but we know you're sad. How about a nice piece of apple pie?"

"Mmmm," Clark mumbled numbly.

Martha, working off a hunch, unhooked the snaps of Clark's little overalls and felt the seat of Clark's training pants. "Clark Kent!" she moaned. "I knew it. Every time you cry, you wet your Pull-Ups. _Now_ Clark's being a bad boy!"

"Don't upset him any more, Martha," Jonathan told her, rolling his eyes.

Martha went over to Clark's dresser and pulled a dry pair of training pants from his bottom drawer. "Okay, let Mommy change you, and then we'll eat apple pie."

Jonathan removed Clark's overalls and handed his son over to his wife. "Honey, what do you think they _do_ to bad kids back on Clark's planet—if he's from another planet?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, Jonathan, but from all of Clark's crying, I don't think it's good!"


	6. A Disturbing Report

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.

* * *

Clark was numb as his mother sliced him a piece of her homemade apple pie. He took a few bites, but his usual coos and squeals were noticeably absent. For a kid that usually loved to eat, his parents saw a problem.

"Doesn't Clark like Mommy's pie?" Martha cooed. "Clark, sweetie, be a good boy! Eat your pie!"

Clark just took a drink of milk from his sippy cup. He looked sad.

"Jonathan, I don't think Clark's feeling well," Martha told her husband worriedly.

Jonathan was polishing off his second piece. "I think he's just tired. I say we change him into his jammies, put him to bed early, and have dinner, just the two of us."

Martha smiled. "You'll need to shower." Jonathan was still filthy from plowing.

"I'll shower. And then I'll cook," her husband offered, smiling. His smile lit up his whole face; Martha wanted to melt. "How about a nice romantic dinner of pasta, and a glass of wine?"

"Sounds wonderful," Martha was able to get out, staring into her husband's eyes. Jonathan was so cute.

Jonathan plucked Clark from his booster seat. "I think you're ready for bed, son. Let's head upstairs and put you into your jammies."

Clark didn't protest. Jonathan carried his son up the stairs to prepare him for bed, and Martha cleared their plates.

* * *

Martha handed her son his teddy bear. "Here you go, Clark. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, son."

"Niiii."

"Mommy and Daddy love you so much, Clark!"

"Clarr love Maamaa Daadaa," Clark yawned. He turned around so he was facing the bedroom wall, and settled off to dreamland.

"That's one tired kid," Jonathan whispered as he and Martha tiptoed out of their son's room and gently closed the bedroom door.

"I love bedtime with Clark. It's the one time of day he fully understands," Martha smiled.

Jonathan wrapped his arms around his wife and gave her a kiss. "I'm going to shower, and then start dinner."

"I'm going to head downstairs and watch the news. Thanks for making dinner, sweetheart; I'm beat."

Martha headed downstairs, flopped exhaustedly down onto the living room sofa, and reached for the remote. Before adopting Clark, she liked to watch the news every evening before dinner; the adoption changed all that. Having a toddler kept her on her toes. Not to mention that she and Jonathan didn't want Clark watching a lot of television; it was important to emphasize work and family as the most important values, instead of the consistent need for entertainment.

Martha must have dozed off, because by the time she woke up, the news broadcast was almost over. The weatherman was just concluding his report:

"As we all know, a heavy storm is expected to come across central Kansas early this evening, and radar has indicated to us that a few moderate tornadoes could develop in the Smallville area," the weatherman announced, standing in front of a large map of Kansas. A large cartoon of a twister was swirling across where Smallville was supposed to be. "Residents are encouraged to keep tuned to radio and television news and weather channels all evening for further updates. The tornadoes are not expected to cause major damage, but residents should still not be surprised if they spend the night in their storm shelters."

Martha wanted to yell for Jonathan, but knew that her yelling would wake Clark up. Luckily, she turned around at that moment to hear Jonathan coming down the stairs. He was dressed in pajamas and a plaid bathrobe, running a hand through his damp hair. "I'm ready to start dinner, sweetheart," he promised Martha. "Don't worry, you'll be fed soon enough."

"Jonathan, the weatherman just said we're expected to get tornadoes tonight!" Martha cried.

Jonathan blinked in surprise, but remained calm. "It's okay, honey. Just remain calm. We'll keep the television on, and when the time comes, we'll go out into the storm cellar and take Clark with us."

"This is Clark's first tornado, Jonathan. He's going to be scared," Martha reminded him.

"I know he is, Martha, but he's a strong kid…_literally_. I'm sure he'll be fine."


	7. Terror in the Storm Cellar

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: This scene has been written and rewritten multiple times. It's hard for me to write action scenes. I'm more of a drama writer.

* * *

Martha Kent was an emotionally strong woman. The only time she had flat-out panicked had been a couple of months ago, during the meteor shower—but only because she hadn't the faintest idea what was happening. Now the mother in Martha was panicking as she ate dinner with her husband.

She was glad that Jonathan wasn't in a talkative mood, because she was straining to hear the sound of the wind outside. When the rustle of the leaves got to be too much, she was going to take the stairs two at a time to fetch Clark from his bedroom. She didn't care whether the toddler was still asleep or not.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was quietly eating his pasta, holding Martha's hand with his free hand. Every so often he would put his fork down and give her a kiss on the cheek. Martha barely noticed; she was trapped in a trance of worry.

"Martha," Jonathan finally sighed, sensing her worry. "Calm down, will you? Everything's going to be okay. We've had tornadoes before, and we'll have plenty more after this one. This is Kansas."

"But it's Clark's first, Jonathan. What if we don't make it out to the storm cellar in time? What if he gets hurt?"

"It's hard for me to imagine a kid that strong getting hurt," Jonathan sighed, "but if it'll make you feel any better, we'll go to the storm cellar right after dinner, okay? I'll wash the dishes, you get Clark ready. We have plenty of blankets, food, and water out there. We'll be fine for the night."

Martha nodded. "Flashlights? Radio? Extra Pull-Ups for Clark?"

"Check, check, and you can grab them on your way down. Clark'll be fine."

* * *

After dinner, Martha changed into sweats and went into Clark's room to rouse him. She felt so terrible; Clark was fast asleep.

"AAAAAAAA!" Clark protested as his mother shook him awake and picked him up in her arms. The poor thing probably thought he was being kidnapped.

"Shhhh! Clark, it's Maamaa!" Martha said quietly, hugging her son to her chest. "It's Maamaa, sweetie! Honey, there's a big storm coming, so we have to sit in the storm cellar, okay? We're going to be safe: you, me, and Daadaa."

Clark probably couldn't understand, but his mother's soothing tone told him that everything was okay. He wrapped his arms around his mother. "Clarr potty?" he asked gently.

"You mean, can Clark _go_ to the potty? Of course, honey." Martha carried her son to the bathroom, set him down on his feet, and watched him toddle over to his small child-sized toilet. Then she closed the door, returned to her son's room, and began stuffing extra Pull-Ups, toys, and a few picture books into a diaper bag. At least Clark seemed calm.

* * *

Clark started to cry as soon as Martha carried him outside. The wind was blowing so hard that his face was stinging with windburn as he and his parents made their way toward the storm cellar. Martha was holding Clark as close to her as she could; trees were knocking against the house, empty garbage cans were blowing across the yard, and Jonathan's truck was dangerously rocking back and forth. Martha let out a cry of her own and stumbled into Jonathan just as dirt started to blow into her eyes.

"_I've got you, honey_!" Jonathan shouted as he wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder. Shouting was the only way he could be heard as the wind howled on. "_Just follow me_!"

At long last, the Kents reached the storm cellar. The wooden doors were making a lot of noise as the wind rustled them up, trying to blow them open. Jonathan unlocked the doors, and they blew open automatically, almost taking him down with them.

Martha hurriedly hugged Clark and led him down into the cellar. Jonathan hurried after her; off in the distance, he could see a tornado approaching the farm.

As Jonathan wrestled the storm cellar doors shut, Martha set Clark down on the dirt-covered ground. Clark toddled over to his spaceship as Martha switched on a battery-powered camping lantern, then took a blanket from their emergency supply pile and spread it down on the ground.

"Clark, honey, lie down and sleep while Mommy and Daddy blow up the air mattress," Martha said quietly. The Kents kept an air mattress and an air pump down in their storm cellar as well, in order to have a comfortable cushion to sleep on at night.

Clark was still transfixed with his spaceship. Martha didn't blame him; the thing was humongous, and taking up half the storm cellar.

"MARTHA!" Jonathan yelled from the top of the stairs. The wind wasn't allowing him to shut the doors to the storm cellar. "MARTHA, HELP ME!"

Martha was halfway up the stairs before she had an idea. Turning back around, she sprinted down the stairs, picked up Clark in her arms, and carried him up the stairs to the doors.

"EEEEEEE!" Clark screamed, and Martha knew he didn't want food.

"_Daddy and I need your help, sweetie_!" Martha shouted, trying to get a message across to her son over the wind. "_We need the doors closed_!"

Blank stare from Clark.

Desperately, Martha resorted to a visual demonstration. She grabbed the left storm cellar door along with Jonathan, and both of them tried to wrestle it shut. Meanwhile, the right one was still flapping dangerously in the wind.

Clark understood. He climbed up between his parents and grabbed the handle of the left door. Martha told her husband to let go, and he did. Jonathan began wrestling with the right door.

Martha climbed over her son to help Jonathan. With Clark still holding the left door closed, Martha and Jonathan were able to pull the right door in. Jonathan secured them both together with a lock, and then collapsed on the top step.

"You were great, son," he smiled wearily at Clark, who cooed and gave out a cheerful smile.

"That's a _very _good boy!" Martha praised him. She picked up Clark and gave him a kiss.

"Clarr good boy?" Clark asked hopefully.

"Clark's a good boy!" Martha affirmed happily. Clark grinned.

"You two go downstairs, blow up the air mattress, and go to sleep," Jonathan told his wife and son, still breathing heavily. "I'll be down in a minute. I need to rest; I'm beat."

While the storm doors still shuddered violently, trying to break free of their lock, Martha picked up Clark and carried him downstairs. Jonathan sat on the top step for a few moments, then stood up, took a deep breath, and started to walk down the stairs into the cellar. He felt a lot better.

At that very moment, the tornado that was winding its way across the Kent farm approached the storm cellar. The doors shook so violently that they blew off their hinges altogether.

The tornado sent the broken wooden doors collapsing inward, knocking Jonathan down as he made his way downstairs.

Martha screamed as Jonathan Kent tumbled down the set of stairs to the landing, the heavy doors falling on top of him.


	8. At the Hospital

Disclaimer:

I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: This story is almost over. I want to write a third one of Clark's "little adventures" about Clark and his super speed, but I'm not sure if I have the time and/or motivation. We'll have to see.

* * *

The Smallville Medical Center was overflowing with patients, most of whom had injuries from the tornado. Cots were set up in the lobby, waiting rooms, and supply closets. But because Jonathan's injuries were severe, he was lucky enough to have a regular hospital bed in a private room.

After Jonathan's accident out in the storm cellar, Clark had cried. Martha, trying to be brave, had scrambled to remove the broken wooden doors from on top of her husband, but the pieces were incredibly heavy. Luckily, Clark had dried his tears in time to help. All by himself, he had lifted the heavy wooden doors off of his father. Jonathan hadn't been breathing.

Carrying Clark in her arms, Martha had rushed back to the house to call an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, Jonathan had been roused and hooked up to a respirator.

Now, lying in his hospital room, Martha had been informed that Jonathan had suffered three broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a punctured lung. He was breathing through a tube, and was barely conscious. A teary-eyed Clark was sitting in his mother's lap in the corner, thumb in his mouth. Martha didn't even bother to reprimand him.

A nurse entered the room and began to smooth out Jonathan's blankets. "Mrs. Kent, there's nothing more you can do here tonight," she pleaded with Martha. "Please go home and get some rest. You can come back tomorrow. Your husband will be fine."

"I can't leave him," Martha said quietly. She set Clark down, rose up from her chair, and went over to his bedside. Jonathan stared up at his wife through tired eyes. "I can't leave him," she repeated again. "I love him."

"Daadaa!" Clark exclaimed.

"It's okay, little guy," the nurse chuckled. "Your father's going to be okay." She looked up at Martha. "Seriously, Mrs. Kent, you should leave. We're going to be giving your husband his medicine soon. He needs his rest, too."

Martha reached for Jonathan's hand and gave it a squeeze. Jonathan blinked his eyes softly, then gently squeezed back.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay, honey?" Martha whispered to her husband. Jonathan gently squeezed Martha's hand again.

The nurse patted Martha's shoulder. "You can say goodnight to your husband, Mrs. Kent, and then you can use a payphone in the lobby to call a taxicab."

Martha nodded. She gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek, bid him goodnight, and then turned to Clark. "Come on, Clark, it's after midnight. Way past somebody's bedtime." She walked over and picked Clark up. "Say goodnight to Daadaa."

"Niiii, Daadaa."

* * *

It was nearly one o' clock in the morning when the taxi dropped Martha and Clark off at home. Clark had fallen asleep on the way, but had woken up when the cab jerked to a halt. Surprisingly, aside from the doors of the storm cellar falling in, the rest of the farm had escaped the tornado unscathed. _It's a miracle_, Martha thought, tears in her eyes.

Martha paid the cab driver, then got out and climbed the steps to the front door of the house, Clark in her arms. "Come on, sweetheart. Time for bed. You were a very good boy today, Clark; you saved Daddy's life. But we'll talk more about it tomorrow, okay?"

Clark simply yawned in response.

"You're still in your jammies," Martha remarked as she unlocked the door. "So we can put you straight to bed. Do have to use the potty? Clark potty?"

"No potty," Clark said quietly. "Clarr slee Maamaa?"

"Can you sleep with Mommy? Well, I guess that will be all right. Daddy's sleeping in the hospital, so Mommy's going to be lonely." Martha made sure the door was locked, then climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house. She entered her and Jonathan's bedroom, threw her purse on the floor, and climbed into bed, still wearing her sweats from earlier in the evening.

Clark climbed in right beside her. "Niiii, Maamaa. Clarr love Maamaa."

"Maamaa loves Clark, too." Giving her son a goodnight kiss and wrapping her arms protectively around him, Martha Kent settled off to sleep.


	9. Kent Family Group Hug

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

**Author's Note**: I've started working on a story about Clark's super speed. Get ready to read "The Adventures of Little Clark, Part II." Coming soon (I hope.)

* * *

Two weeks later, Jonathan Kent lie on his living room sofa, sipping a bowl of soup. He had tried to go about his farm routine as usual—ignoring his doctors, of course, but then again, Jonathan always was pretty stubborn—but had only gotten as far as milking a couple of cows before he had collapsed on the barn floor from fatigue. It hurt every time he breathed, his ribs still hadn't healed, and he was still coughing up blood.

Martha had begged him to follow his doctors' orders and lie down, and for once, Jonathan had agreed. Lying on the sofa really did help him feel better.

"Don't worry, honey. I've been running the farm for two weeks. I'll be happy to help out until you're completely better," Martha soothed him as she refilled his mug of hot tea.

Jonathan coughed again. It still hurt so much whenever he coughed. "Honey, where's Clark?"

"Don't worry, he's fine. As long as we milk the cows _together_, no one gets hurt."

Right on cue, Clark toddled into the room, holding a picture book. He held it up to his mother. "Maamaa?"

"Do you want to read, Clark, honey? Maamaa would love to read with you, but she can't. She still has a lot of work to do."

"Daadaa will read with you, Clark. Come on over, son." He gestured for his son to come over to the sofa.

Clark toddled over to his father. Jonathan set his lunch tray on the coffee table, picked Clark up, and sat him on his lap. "My little boy," Jonathan murmured softly, giving his son a hug. "Can you come here for a minute, Martha?" he asked his wife.

Martha walked over to the sofa, and the three of them exchanged a family hug. Martha knelt down beside her husband, and ran a hand through her son's hair. "Clark, sweetie," she said gently to her son. "Your father and I are _so_ proud of you!"

"You saved my life, son," Jonathan said, a tear running down his cheek. "You're turning into the son your mother and I want you to become: a strong, compassionate individual."

Clark's head was cocked to the side, but he was listening carefully. Martha and Jonathan suspected he understood a little of what was going on.

"You have some special abilities, Clark, but we need to keep them a secret, okay?" Martha asked gently. "Nobody else around here can do things like that. It might cause us some problems if anyone else found out about you."

"But even with your abilities, son, your mother and I love you," Jonathan added softly. "You're our little boy. Our little Clark."

"Our little miracle," Martha wept, taking her son's hand and squeezing it.

"Clark love Maamaa," Clark said quietly, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck. "Clark love Daadaa."

"Hear that, Jonathan?" Martha smiled. "He finally got his name right."

Jonathan kissed his son's cheek. "That's a good boy. Let's read." He took the book from his son's hands and opened it. "Are you sure you don't want to read with us, Martha?"

Martha smiled. "Well, I guess I could spare a few minutes."

His son still held tightly on his lap, Jonathan turned to the first page. The Kent family listened as Jonathan began to read, his voice still weakened by his injuries. "Once upon a time, there lived a little boy in a land far away…"


End file.
